


the cold pale light in your eyes

by brophigenia



Category: Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time, Mild D/S undertones, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Post-Season/Series 01, everyone is 18, in the greendale woods, like Sabrina is the D and Harvey is the s, listen i just love harvey kinkle okay, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 17:40:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16727967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brophigenia/pseuds/brophigenia
Summary: “What are you—“ she whispers, looking now at him like he is some brand-new thing, like she didn’t think he could surprise her. Like he’s magic, maybe, and it’s easy to swallow the nerves in his throat when she’s looking at him like that.(AKA, Harvey and Sabrina meet up in the Greendale Woods three years post-season one, with sexy results.)





	the cold pale light in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Do I have ANY regrets about this? 
> 
> No. No I don't. If ya'll won't get on this ship with me, I'll steer it MYSELF. I'll burn it to the ground MYSELF.
> 
> Russian Translation now available! Jensen Larsen was kind enough to translate it, and it can be found here: https://ficbook.net/readfic/8329253

_ i put a spell on you  _

_ because you’re _

_ m i n e.  _

 

_ *** _

 

At eighteen, she is just as lovely as she was at fifteen, at sixteen. She is just as sad around the eyes when she looked at him as she was when she stood in his bedroom and kissed him goodbye. 

Her hair is as silvery pale. Her eyelashes are as long. She is still  _ Sabrina Spellman,  _ and he never could hate her. Even if he wanted to. Even if it would’ve been easier. 

She moves impossibly more gracefully now. It does nothing to quell the nervous thrum in his stomach when he looks at her. He always felt like that— shaky with his want for her. Sick with longing. 

He’d been more comfortable, though. Now he feels on edge with it all. With being too close to her. His hands shake; it is like being too close to the moon. 

She is the moon. 

“Harvey,” she whispers, in the trembling voice she’d only used before a few times, when they’d kissed and kissed and  _ kissed  _ until they were both hot-blooded with it. Overcome, herself. 

_ Harvey,  _ and with just his name she’s got him again. If he’s being honest, she’s always had him— there’s never been a night where he didn’t think of her. 

He gets on his knees, in the dirt and leaves. It’s almost Halloween. Almost her birthday. 

He gets on his knees, knows she could do whatever she wanted to him now. Knows she always could. 

“What are you—“ she whispers, looking now at him like he is some brand-new thing, like she didn’t think he could surprise her. Like he’s magic, maybe, and it’s easy to swallow the nerves in his throat when she’s looking at him like that. 

He skims his fingertips over her jaw, her chin, the spot on her neck he used to love to nuzzle. She shivers, eyes darkening, lips parting, little pink tongue swiping over them restlessly. Her hands flex, at her sides. Like she wants to touch him. 

(Like she wants to  _ hurt  _ him, maybe.)

(He’d let her.) 

“Harvey,” she mouths, doesn’t speak, and his hands are  _ bold,  _ he’s  _ bold,  _ when they find the shape of her hips beneath her velvet skirt. He’s unspeakably fresh when he tugs her closer, closer, his hands so large on her slim frame that it gives the illusion that  _ he’s  _ the force to be reckoned with, here. 

An outsider might make that mistake. 

Harvey does not. 

“Brina,” he says, helpless with it, and her hair rustles in the invisible breeze that he can hear but not feel. Her eyes are nearly black. Her teeth look a little too sharp to be unthreatening. 

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t  _ care,  _ with his pulse thundering in his ears. 

“Tell me to stop,” he begs, one last chance. “Make me stop.” 

She does not move except to tuck her chin down, their eyes meeting. Her skin is feverhot, even through her dress. “If you stop…” she trails off, half a threat lurking somewhere in the warning. 

The tips of his ears are hot. His hands are shaking. 

He rucks up her skirt until it’s around her waist, tears down her lacy black panties without even stopping to admire the way they frame her peaches-and-cream hips, prettier than any girl in any magazine or music video. There is no time to stop and gaze dumbly at her. There is no time for anything but  _ this,  _ putting his mouth on her where she’s wet and soft and  _ terrifying.  _ She tastes like the sea. His nose is buried in her white-blonde curls. They smell sharply of the orange-peel soap she’d always used, ever since they were kids. 

His heart is pounding; he can’t focus on anything, restless with his tongue and his teeth and his lips until  _ finally _ there is a hand fisted in his hair.  _ Sabrina’s  _ hand, and he shoulders her thighs further apart, one of her legs raising to wrap around his neck. The lace border on her stocking scrapes his cheek. 

“Harvey,” Sabrina says above him like a prayer, faraway-sounding. Dreamy, almost, but still with that steely core of conviction he’d always adored beyond all sense. 

_ Sabrina Sabrina Sabrina,  _ he thinks, and finds her other hand with his, curls their fingers together desperately, feeling unmoored and untethered in this uncharted territory. Her hand tightens in his hair. He might be crying. He can’t think. Everything is too good, like he’s the one getting off. 

(Later, he’ll realize that it’s her. That the pleasure rolling off her in waves is more than just metaphorical. That the zing of  _ toogoodohgod  _ is her magic, her euphoria, too much to be contained.) 

“Harvey, Harvey,  _ Harvey,”  _ Sabrina says above him, head thrown back and too terrifying to be an angel, even to his clouded mind. 

He loves her so much that it makes his stomach ache, beneath the silken pleasure. 

She drags him back with more strength than her bird-boned body should possess, but it doesn’t scare him. Nothing scares him anymore, except being without her. He had almost three years of that, of wanting nothing more than to go to Spellman Mortuary and beat down the doors until she opened them. 

“Brina,” he tells her, face wet, stricken. “Don’t leave me again.” 

But she’s already gone, fingers gone from his hair, and he’s alone, kneeling in the Greendale Woods like some ruined maiden. That’s how he feels. Ravished. Ruined. 

He stands on shaky legs, wipes his face with the back of his hand and resists the urge to lick the taste of her from his skin. His head still feels full of her, her taste and smell. 

(Miles away, Sabrina materializes in the dorm with her underwear dangling around one ankle and her eyes wild. Prudence is the only one still awake; she says nothing, just arches one perfectly-threaded brow and flips to the next page in her book—  _ Maleficas Dominas.  _ Sabrina tries to slow her breathing, still throbbing  _ everywhere.  _ She thinks of Harvey and she thinks of Lord Blackwell and the coven and the Dark Lord and she thinks  _ soon.  _ Oh,  _ soon.  _ They will have time. They will have all the time in the world. Like she can read Sabrina’s thoughts, Prudence hums, the sound both musical and comforting.) 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @ brophigenia.tumblr.com


End file.
